


Kinetic Energy

by linguamortua



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Military Backstory, Pre-Canon, just guys being dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 09:52:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16700221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linguamortua/pseuds/linguamortua
Summary: Billy was restless today in the desert heat. He wanted to go somewhere, do something. Felt ready for trouble—the ordinary kind of trouble. He could feel it in his blood, in his irritability, in his constant chafing under routine. Never was good at being told what to do.





	Kinetic Energy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trill_gutterbug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trill_gutterbug/gifts).



> For Trill, who's destined to receive blowjob fics from me until the end of time. This one's your fault - again.

Billy tore open his MRE and let the silver pouches slither out into his lap. He pawed through them.

‘Beef stew,’ he said, and threw Frank his coffee packet.

‘Told you,’ said Frank, inspecting his own lunch. ‘I have the gift.’ He waved his entree pouch. ‘Chicken curry. Knew it. Felt it in my soul.’

‘I’ll never drink coffee again,’ Billy groused.

‘Could stop playing.’

‘And admit defeat? Never.’ He watched the flameless heater pack warm up his stew. Frank, the heathen, crumbled his crackers into his curry, added salt and pepper, and ate the whole goddamn mess cold. Billy watched. It was fascinating, in the same way that watching roadkill outside your house getting flatter and flatter was fascinating. ‘The grunt, feeding in his natural habitat,’ Billy said, Attenboroughing. 

‘Yeah man,’ Frank said with his mouth full. ‘Lucky for you I’ll put anything in my mouth.’

‘Anything, huh?’ Billy said. He nonchalantly let his eyes crawl the horizon. Sound carried out here, but Curtis and Mac were half a klik away to the east. 

‘Known for it.’

‘In college?’

‘That’s a low blow, Billy. We don’t all got a whole semester of college.’

A pair of Hawks whirred overhead in tidy unison, and Billy looked up at them to hide the fact that his face was getting red. Three years he’d known this asshole, and he still hadn’t managed to develop any defenses against Frank’s insidious brand of needling. 

He rallied.

‘Hey man, when I get out I’ll be closer to a degree than you. And I’m not gonna pay a dime for it this time around.’

Billy had it all worked out. He’d ditched college, hating all the well-fed little pissants in his classes, bitching about mommy and daddy and boyfriends and girlfriends and _hard work_. He’d enlisted right after 9/11. Coincidence for him, if not for Frank. When he was done in the desert, he was getting his MBA courtesy of the United States government. He was going to make a shitload of money. Nobody was going to be able to push him around. Billy Russo was going to be the boss. He poked at his beef stew, took an unenthusiastic mouthful. 

‘When you get that hairdressing degree, I’ll be your first customer,’ Frank said. He had already packed away his garbage. 

‘Fuck you,’ said Billy, annoyed into losing the game. Frank gave his usual gurgle of obnoxious laughter. Another two hours out there, watching the vast expanse of boring landscape and checking in every thirty. The wadis were all dried up so it was rocks and sand, rocks and sand. The breeze was too light to be cooling, but just strong enough to blow a constant stream of sand into every fold and pocket. Two more hours. Billy always put on sunscreen, but he hated being out in this shit. 

So it was a relief, finally, when they hauled ass into camp and into the shade. Billy had been sore for a while because Frank never knew when to stop being a dick. Last hour they’d been mostly quiet. Anyway, rattling along in the back of a truck with six other tired, sweaty dudes didn’t really encourage conversation.

Billy made a beeline for the shower tent for his two minutes of warm water from an overhead bladder. Thank God for wet wipes. He broke out into a sweat immediately after. Better than nothing, though. He was restless today in the desert heat. He wanted to go somewhere, do something. Felt ready for trouble—the ordinary kind of trouble. He could feel it in his blood, in his irritability, in his constant chafing under routine. Never was good at being told what to do. Sullenly, he shoved his feet back into his boots, leaving them untied, and pushed through the tent flap back out into the sun. 

‘Mail,’ said Cadiz happily when Billy flopped down into his cot. 

‘Great,’ Billy said. He never got mail, and didn’t know anyone he’d want mail from. What he wanted was a good sulk, a real black fucking mood. Now he’d look like an asshole, with half the other guys buried in mail from home. He lay face down and buried his face in his forearms, like he was napping. Thought about being home. Air conditioning. Bar. Picking up a girl. Picking up a guy. Steak. Anything that didn’t come out of a pouch. 

Billy liked his creature comforts. Sue him. He was still a man to be depended upon, when it mattered. He was—

‘Russ- _o_ ,’ said Frank, kicking his cot. He said Billy’s name in a way that meant it probably wasn’t the first repetition. ‘Job to do.’ When Frank spoke like that, it was all business. There was a tone.

‘Sure,’ said Billy, rolling his feet out onto the floor and making a half-assed attempt at tying the laces. He followed Frank’s sweaty back out into the hell heat again, squinting. Frank let him down the neat row of tents to the stores. 

In a moment they were in among the tightly-packed shelves, boxes and boxes stacked from the plastic lattice floor to the canvas roof. It was quiet, sound from outside deadened by all the crates. Just as Billy was opening his mouth to complain about being sent on some bullshit errand that was beneath them, Frank grabbed his arm and pulled him around a corner. Right at the back, between a stack of tires and boxes of bottled water, was a space big enough for both of them. Frank had a shit-eating grin on his face.

‘Where’s—’

‘Busy,’ Frank interrupted. Turning them around, he hustled Billy backwards into a corner between two crates.

‘Cool,’ said Billy, stupidly, because Frank was fumbling at his pants and Billy’s dick was getting real interested. Frank smelled like he’d been stewing in his gear all day, which he had. Not that Billy minded too much. He mostly didn’t mind anything Frank did, aside from being an asshole. But he guessed that if you were going to spend weeks and months in butt fucking nowhere together, then anyone would end up an asshole. He liked Frank more than anyone else. Most people were backstabbers, but Frank was the real deal. He had Billy’s back.

He also had— he had Billy’s dick in his hand, and Billy reached behind himself to lean on a heavy-duty box. Frank was up in his personal space, his chin coming down to rest on Billy’s shoulder and his hand next to Billy’s on the crate, but not quite touching. If Billy closed his eyes, he could pretend that he was somewhere nicer. Like a really, really cheap motel. The air was thick with the smells of warm plastic and warm rubber and warm canvas and warm sand, and Frank’s warm, sweaty body. Frank’s hand was sweaty, too, and warm, as he jerked Billy off. 

About ten seconds in Frank pulled his usual trick and tried to kiss Billy. Normally, Billy would toss his head away like a fractious horse. Today he let Frank mouth at him for a minute, for no reason in particular. Frank always had too much tongue going on. Kissing really got him off, though. Billy figured that it probably worked great with girls. _No, baby, I just wanna kiss you. Maybe stick the tip in._ Amusement made Billy generous, so that he gave Frank’s lower lip a quick bite and let the guy make out like a high schooler. 

Frank rumbled low in his chest, and then he slid to his knees, hands taking Billy’s pants down with him. 

‘You always smell good,’ Frank said into Billy’s thigh.

‘It’s called washing,’ Billy told him, trying not to sound breathless. ‘You should try it.’

Instead of coming out with some smartass reply, for once Frank cut right to the chase and got his mouth on Billy’s dick. No cute tongue stuff; Frank took Billy’s cock halfway down like a fucking champ, and then a little further. Always full throttle with Frank. Billy closed his eyes so that he could enjoy the slick noise. Frank had known him way too long and shared way too much contraband porn to avoid knowing what Billy liked. 

Billy liked being above Frank like this. It wasn’t like Billy wouldn’t give head; anyway, he knew he was good at it, and he liked being good at things. Just sometimes having someone looming over him gave him the creeps. It was the same when they were home and Frank came over to fuck. Billy would always pop a couple Ambien, just to take the edge off. Got a funny feeling sometimes, like a person was peeling off his skin and looking inside him. He didn’t love it.

So it was easier when Frank was on his knees and Billy could put one hand on the back of his head and run the show. Nothing beat slowly and deliciously fucking Frank Castle’s smart mouth. Watching him close his eyes and go to town. Sometimes he’d do this thing where he’d change up the angle so the head of Billy’s cock dragged against the roof of his mouth. Billy wondered where he’d learned it. And where he’d learned to make the throaty, showy, sucking noise. 

It was too goddamn good to last. Had to be quick, anyway. Nobody had to ask when they walked in on you sucking a dude off. Billy watched the slow drag of Frank’s mouth down in cock. Frank clocked him watching, slow blinked and did some porno tongue move. Billy closed his eyes so Frank couldn’t see them rolling back in his head, and hitched his hips a little to teach the guy a lesson.

‘Always did appreciate your attention to detail, Frankie,’ Billy managed. In response, Frank wrapped one brawny arm around the back of Billy’s right thigh and pulled him in deeper. The urge to fight back rose in Billy and he stamped it down. Instead, he focused on the way Frank was grabbing his ass like sucking dick was the only thing keeping him alive right now. There was spit running down Frank’s chin. 

_Fuck._

Billy came with a noise that he stifled quickly into his forearm. His fingers bit into Frank’s scalp. Frank, who really would put anything in his mouth, swallowed. The moment stretched on and on, Billy’s cock twitching as he came down. He realised he’d been up on his tiptoes. 

Someone walked past the tent and they froze for a minute, trying not to breathe too hard. Frank let his forehead rest against Billy’s hip. When Billy looked down, Frank was still hard. Billy found he got a kick out of that, like it was Frank’s personal punishment for being an asshole today. So when he leaned over to pull his pants back up, Billy said quietly, ‘You can fucking forget about turnabout and fair play, man. I’m not putting my face in your swamp crotch.’

Frank grinned as he wiped his chin with the back of his hand.

‘I’ll put it on your tab,’ he said.

‘Fine,’ said Billy, casual as he zipped up his pants and blotted the sweat off his forehead with his t-shirt sleeve. He blew out a long breath and stretched his arms overhead so his shoulders clicked. Then, just to be obnoxious, he stepped over Frank. ‘Cover story?’

Frank repositioned so he was sitting with his back to the box. Already he was working his hand down the front of his pants, and Billy would bet real cash that one of his pockets was stuffed full of toilet paper like a perverted Boy Scout. Frank shrugged.

‘Tell ‘em I’m jerking off in here, and not to come in.’

‘Okay,’ Billy said, making his way back through the maze of stores. Frank would now hang this favour over his head, until Billy relented and returned it. That was the game. With anyone else it would be weird, but with Frank it was just one more thing to pass the time. Billy liked to think of it that way. Eventually it would end, because everything did, but for now Billy felt loose and good and happy. 

He stepped out into the sun, lighter.


End file.
